


the kids don’t stand a chance

by IndieBughead



Series: The Bughead Collection of Drabbles [3]
Category: Archie Comics, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Cheryl Blossom Needs a Hug, Drabble, F/F, F/M, Post Finale, Tumblr Prompt, i dont know where i was going with this tbh, riverdale is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 15:37:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14814140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndieBughead/pseuds/IndieBughead
Summary: Thanks for the prompt, @forasecondtherewedwon.#11: "What’s with the box?"





	the kids don’t stand a chance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ForASecondThereWedWon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForASecondThereWedWon/gifts).



_Ding! Ding! Ding!_

 

“What time’sit?” grumbles Jughead, his warm breath hitting the back of her neck. It stirs her awake, so she reaches blindly for her phone on her nightstand with half-lidded eyes. It dings one more time as she sits up and unlocks it, earning another groan from the naked man lying on her bed, who shifts and buries his head into her pillow.

 

“It’s a quarter past seven,” she replies belatedly, her eyes moving quickly over her cell phone’s screen yawning as she tries to make sense of the texts in her fuzzy state.

 

“It’s Cheryl,” she adds. “She says she needs me to go over to Thistlehouse as soon as possible.”

 

Jughead shudders dramatically, and Betty can see the way his eyebrows are furrowed and his lips are turned into a frown against her white pillowcase. “I hate that place. What do you think she’s up to so early in the morning?”

 

Betty sighs and types out a quick reply before setting her phone down again. “It’s Cheryl,” she repeats slowly, as if that satisfies the question.

 

Jughead hums and reaches a hand to grasp her waist, pulling her down against him. She giggles lazily as he nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck, blowing a raspberry against her skin.

 

“And you’re going to leave me here, naked and alone?”

 

She feels him pout against her skin, smile growing wider as he trails his fingers delicately down her spine to cup her ass.

 

“No,” she whispers coyly. “I’m going to ask you to give me a ride.”

 

Jughead wiggles his eyebrows at that, chuckling at the double entendre. Betty presses herself flush against him, causing a low groan to rumble through his chest.

 

“Careful Betts, you might not make it to Thistlehouse if you keep that up.”

 

“Whatever do you mean?” she teases, draping a leg over his hip. “It’s not that far away, it can be a quick ri –“

 

It’s well past eight when they finally make it to the truck.

 

 

 

*

*

*

 

Betty slams the truck’s door shut and blows Jughead a kiss before making her way to the steps of Thistlehouse. She’s about to lift the thistle inspired knocker when Cheryl cracks the door open, revealing and all red ensemble, complete with a head scarf tucked neatly on her head.

 

She narrows her eyes in the direction of the truck, which is nearing the gate by now. “You’re late,” she announces, red lips pursed. “I should’ve known better. I hope your excuse doesn’t include a certain hobo’s little snake.”

 

“Cheryl,” Betty admonishes, her ears tinged red. “I – I wasn’t ready when you texted me, that’s why I took so long.”

 

“Hmm,” the red-haired girl gives her a once over. “I’m sure if you had actually spent this entire time getting ready you wouldn’t look so particularly disheveled.”

 

“Whatever,” mutters Betty, smoothing an unconscious hand down the front of her button up shirt. “Did you summon me here just to criticize me?”

 

“No,” Cheryl snaps, stepping outside and closing the door behind her. “I need your help with something.”

 

She doesn’t say anything else; just walks the small distance to the open garage and slides into the front seat of her red convertible. Betty follows her, her eyebrows furrowed together.

 

“What’s with the box?” she asks, motioning to the huge cardboard box that sits on the backseat, neatly taped shut.

 

Cheryl doesn’t respond, just leans forward to check her sunglasses and her lipstick in the rearview mirror.  When she’s positive her designer sunglasses are sitting as perfectly as they can on the bridge of her nose and her dark red lipstick hasn’t smudged, she turns to stare at Betty impatiently.

 

“Get in, loser. We have some things to take care of.”

 

Betty thinks if she were anyone else, she would probably stomp her feet and storm out at Cheryl’s behavior, which borderlines on cryptic -- as well as mean, but that’s just Cheryl.  Since she’s not anyone else, she’s Betty, and this is her distant cousin and recently an ally to her cause, she grabs the door handle and slides into the passenger seat.

 

They ride in silence out of the Blossom’s, or Betty guesses, Nana Rose’s property now. A soft melody plays in the background, too muffled by the wind to be recognized.

 

Betty takes a second to appreciate the feel of it in her face, the loose hairs around her face blowing wildly against her skin. She sneaks a sideway glance to Cheryl, who is the epitome of poise. Her hair rests perfectly down her shoulders, her scarf holding tightly onto the red made that so closely matches Cheryl’s fire.

 

“What’s with the box?” she repeats, her voice getting lost in the space around them.

 

Cheryl stays quiet, and Betty’s about to repeat her question once more in case she didn’t hear her over the gush of the wind when Cheryl opens her mouth to speak.

 

“When—after Jason died, my parents hired a crew to take every single one of his belongings into a spare room in Thistlehouse,” she pauses, taking a sharp turn in Pickens Street that makes Betty wonder if they’re headed where she suspects. “I thought it was the right thing to do, you know? To preserve his memory. But after – after everything’s that happened, it seems silly to want to preserve my brother’s memory in a pile of clothes. So I decided to clean out the room, as well as every other spare room in the house, so I can offer shelter to any Serpent or Southsider who might need it. And I’m giving away his stuff.”

 

It clicks in Betty’s head, then, the connection between the box behind her and Cheryl’s stranger than usual behavior. She studies her cousin’s porcelain face carefully, catching on to the stray tear that rolls down her cheek. She reaches for the gloved hand that rests on her lap and gives it a squeeze.

 

“I’m sure Jason would’ve loved that, Cher. Are you sure, though?” she can’t help but be concerned, after all, Cheryl has proved to be volatile in many situations, and she wouldn’t want her to regret this decision.

 

“Yes,” she says firmly. “I talked about it with Toni, and she didn’t pressure me into it or anything remotely like that, but she did give me an idea.”

 

“Oh?” she prompts, a smile forming on her lips at the way Cheryl’s entire demeanor changes at the mention of Toni.

 

“My parents – and make of this what you want, they kept every item of clothing Jason ever wore – including his baby clothes. Toni and I figured the Southside families would appreciate some perfectly well kept designer outfits for their kids, I even found some old clothes of mine that I thought a little girl might enjoy” she finishes with a small smile.

 

“I’m sure they will,” Betty confirms, but doesn’t add anything more. She has a feeling, from the way Cheryl’s tight grip on her hand hasn’t softened, that there’s more she wants to say.

 

They cross the old train tracks that divide the Northside from the Southside, a notion that seems almost more punctuated by the destruction that hits their sight as soon as they drive into the main street that used to lead to Sunnyside Trailer Park. The stores are closed, many with shattered windows or graffiti on their walls.

 

“I’m also hoping this will help them accept me as one of their own, you know? Like a peace offering, after everything that happened,” she says finally, just as they cross the Whyte Wyrm and head for the small neighborhood that still stands just behind it.

 

“I think they already know on which side you stand, Cher, and that’s more than enough,” Betty reassures her. She catches sight of some kids playing near a poorly kept park ahead and motions for Cheryl to park the car.

 

Betty unbuckles her seatbelt and goes to open the door, ready to call the kids over and tell them to bring their other friends so they can choose from the piles of clothes. Cheryl doesn’t move though, her left hand still gripping the steering wheel. Slowly, she peels her scarf off and slides her sunglasses back to hold her hair. A little girl playing with a ratty doll notices them, lifting her small head and waving enthusiastically.

 

Cheryl flashes the girl a grin that is so youthful and hopeful that Betty can’t help but trace it back to a time where they all played together in the school playground, a time when Jughead wasn’t a Serpent and she wasn’t the daughter or a murderer and Cheryl didn’t know about her family’s crimes yet.  She wonders if they’ll ever be as happy as they were back then, innocent and carefree.

 

Cheryl steps out of the car and wiggles her fingers to beckon the little girl over. She rips the tape that holds the box closed and rummages inside as the little girl gets closer to them. Cheryl crouches down to meet her height, all red dress and high heels forgotten, and Betty thinks they might never get that back as she hears her cousin coo and giggle along with the girl, but they sure as hell can try their hardest to keep the kids inside their bubble for as long as they can.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to anyone who reads this -- it got way out of hand. Amazing what your mind comes up with for a 4 word prompt.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated, find me at @indiebughead over at tumblr.


End file.
